The Serious and the Smirk
by QuillSwift
Summary: It's Harry's first meeting with Snape's portrait and it is all he can do to remind himself that, after all, he was the one who had asked to have it made. PostDH some sentimentality, fun, and Snape as sarcastic as ever. Some things never change.
1. Afterlife?

Harry's meeting with Snape was largely anticipated after the events of HBP, but he just had to die before any type of reconciliation between the two. Don't worry, "_you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"_ - Snape will be himself as much as possible as anyone can be after - er, dying.

I originally intended this to be a few exchanged words between Harry and Snape's portrait, but it grew ;). Although it is one event, I'm dividing it into a few chapters for ease of reading.

Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed imagining it happen!

Oh yes, disclaimer: I don't own Snape, Harry, anything in the Potterverse or Snape's memories - sigh - which is probably a good thing all in all as I don't want to spend my days as teary-eyed as Chapter33-reading-me... - but enough of that; here's the story.

* * *

**The Serious and The Smirk**

Harry approached the newly finished frame nervously, unsure of what to expect. In life, he had never wished to see this man, but in death…not to mention that he would be the first…

After all that had passed between them, and Harry's newfound and intimate knowledge of what Severus Snape had been through (given willingly by the man himself, no less) it would be quite awkward to finally come face to face with him.

Snape had no doubt put his faith in death's rift to separate himself and Harry Potter forever. The _"best of him" _revealed, it was all done and dusted - perhaps Snape wanted no sympathy, perhaps he had even been relieved that in death he could finally achieve what would have been too mortifying, too terrifying to say whilst alive.

Or perhaps, as he had oft done in the past, Harry was once again misinterpreting the inscrutable Severus Snape.

_It's only a portrait_, he reminded himself, _in fact if I remember correctly_, he thought, _you were the one who had it commissioned._

He stepped closer to the gilt portrait until he could see it in full light. The likeness was definitely that of the man whom he had last seen being carried solemnly out of the Shrieking Shack; the details hit Harry so vividly that he half-expected the gaping red snakebite to still be upon the white neck. Black curtains of hair surrounded the sallow face, and the hooked nose moved ever so slightly as the portrait breathed in sleep.

_Glad that he is asleep_, thought Harry: confronting those black eyes straight away would have been quite daunting. He had been put in front of a silver and green background - no matter what Dumbledore said, Snape was a Slytherin to the very end and Harry wasn't sure this was an entirely bad thing anymore. Snape wore his customary black robes, with the obvious addition of a piece of paper tucked into one front pocket.

How would he react to Harry's presence when he awoke? Seeing the green eyes that had once belonged to Harry's mother, set in James' face still? Would he be glad that Harry had in fact survived the war, that his sacrifice was not for naught? Or did he expect that knowledge he had fought to keep between himself and Dumbledore - those seeping memories - to die with the boy?

Of course, he was not aware of the service, the memorial, and his status in the wizarding community of the Unlikely Hero. He was unaware that in the last duel, it was his name, alongside Lily Potter's, that had been shouted out as irrefutable proof that there were powers the Dark Lord knew not. He did not know that Harry Potter had delivered his eulogy, for it was only Harry and Dumbledore who knew and understood Snape's complete story. He might not like knowing it either.

Harry wondered vaguely what he would do if Snape became an apologetic mess: _"Oh I'm so sorry Potter I had to be a mean and greasy git so you would hate me and never know…"_ With a shudder and a barely repressed snigger he quashed that dubious thought. As if. He would still be Snape – but it would be a curious thing to see his response to a position he had never before found himself in. For once, it was Snape who would be at Harry's mercy. Ha.

With a start, Harry realised that the black eyes were now indeed open and staring in an unreadable manner at Harry's face. Harry stared back, wondering uncomfortably whether portraits had the same powers as their owners - for he had a suspicion that the Legilimens had heard, at least, that last thought. The two continued to lock eyes, until finally the portrait spoke.

"If this is my afterlife," he sneered, "I must have done something unforgivable indeed. Did I by chance resurrect myself and murder you, Potter, for recklessly sneaking about the Shrieking Shack?"


	2. Ah, a portrait

* * *

_"If this is my afterlife," he sneered, "I must have done something unforgivable indeed. Did I by chance resurrect myself and murder you, Potter, for recklessly sneaking about the Shrieking Shack?"_

_Ah, they had certainly done a very good job capturing the essence of Professor Snape._ Harry did not know whether to feel relieved or exasperated, and just settled on being amused.

Harry saw Snape raising his eyebrows at the frame about him, which he had seemingly just noticed. He felt almost triumphant as the man who had never been ruffled - as Harry remembered, he always alarmingly swung straight from deadly calm to utter dementia, and only then very rarely – mouthed a small 'oh' of realization. As in life, he overcame the disorientation quickly. "So, Potter – it is finished, then."

"Yeah, I - uh - I dueled him," Harry began lamely. _Well, we each cast one spell, but anyways..._"Tom Riddle is gone." Snape's portrait twitched ever so slightly at Harry's use of 'Tom Riddle'.

"And you live, while I died without a wand in my hand, bitten by a snake." There was no incredulity, or anger, or (the wholly more unlikely) relief in Snape's voice - it was just a stated, simple fact. "Killed by a blasted snake," he whispered now, in disgust. "But you live, Potter," he repeated.

"Yes," said Harry, annoyed. "I'm not a ghost, I'm not -"

"Transparent?" Snape suggested, lip curling.

That exchange seemed a long, long time ago. Harry wondered whether he would have enjoyed Snape's sarcastic jibes given different circumstances. But then, a talking portrait would always be more droll than a bullying Potions Master.

Snape continued. "I suppose you're not an Inferius either, although if you walked here with that same vacant expression and lolling tongue..." (Harry hurriedly shut his indignantly gaping mouth) "...I am fairly surprised you were not attacked - that you aren't more - singed," he said with the same sleek tone he had used in life.

Harry swore that if he hadn't known Snape's oath of protection he'd think he sounded disappointed. Now Harry knew how Dumbledore felt, with both the knowledge that he could trust this man absolutely and the frustration that it was not more apparent. "I'm alive, yeah."

"A happy ending," Severus Snape said, with an unexpected, bitter laugh.

"Not for everyone," Harry replied quietly. "Many other good people were killed at Hogwarts, students too."

Snape stared at Harry, straight at his eyes, and Harry, now aware of their significance, felt rather self-conscious. Then –

"This is not Hogwarts."

"You – you didn't get a Headmaster portrait, automatically," Harry was slightly embarrassed for him. "McGonagall said it was because you – er – ran out on the job. Or they thought you did."

Harry decided not to mention the collective cheers of the school upon McGonagall's announcement that Snape had 'done the bunk'. Nor Harry's own mixed feelings of relief and confusion when he thought Snape had jumped to his death. Or the oddly shaped hole Snape had left in the window, which remained a strangely comical yet horrific image in his mind. Definitely not a word.

Harry watched as Snape put the implications of this together. If he did not have a portrait, but was sitting here in one now (conversing with Potter, of all things!) then someone must have – oh no. The boy was surely responsible for this. Snape was not sure whether to feel relieved or exasperated, so he settled on being darkly amused.

Meanwhile, Harry thought in wonderment that this had probably been their most civil conversation to date. _A pity it's all about to end_, he thought, as he recognised the smirk Snape wore in preparation of an insult.

"How disgustingly Gryffindor of you."

Harry blinked at the backhanded compliment.

"Me? At least I'm actually in Gryffindor," Harry said pointedly, enjoying his turn to smirk. Snape, who would normally have removed points or given him a detention for his 'cheek', could do nothing more glare irately from behind the frame. His sharp, black-tunnel eyes now directed downwards, he could not have failed to see the small piece of paper painted into his robes' pocket.

"What is this, Potter?" The paper had been facing outwards, its subject in front of Harry. As Snape raised it to the light, he saw the many printed numbers on its back and recognised what it was. "A Muggle photograph," he sneered, "what do you imagine I would want – "

He froze, turning the picture around in his hands. Harry held his breath, and could not help but steal a look at the stunned man.

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**Author's Note:** Thanks for all the reviews so far! Oh, and Iniga, I'm glad you liked the summary too, lol.

Yes, there are going to be a few more chapters, probably three more. Thanks again, I'm glad it's been well received thus far.


	3. Sunlit reminiscences

_He froze, turning the picture around in his hands. Harry held his breath, and could not help but steal a look at the stunned man. _

_**ooo**_

It had been Petunia who found it first, lying amidst a bunch of old letters that she had, to Harry's surprise, kept hidden in an old drawer in Privet Drive. Before she could scrutinise it, Harry recognised its subjects and hurriedly picked up the sheaf of papers, photo and all.

He was struck by the levity in their smiles. The two young souls in this frozen frame were blissfully ignorant that it would one day be a stark contrast to the darkness their futures held. When Harry wiped a tear from his mother's face, it was his, though it may as well have been theirs.

So Harry had rushed the photo along to the wizarding gallery's studio, asking whether it was not too late to make an addition. One favour he could do for Severus Snape.

Snape couldn't believe that he had forgotten this; it must have been taken in their second – no, third year. He recalled it now, brilliantly.

* * *

The train stopped as they pulled into the platform; steam curling from its magical, scarlet engine. Two children stepped off together – one, a girl with dark red hair and kindly green eyes, the other, a pallid boy with stringy black hair, still wearing his black Hogwarts robes. The green and silver emblem gleamed in the sunlight, but he had already removed his striped tie. The odd pair walked side-by-side out of the station. 

The girl suddenly broke into a run, having seen her parents in the crowd. He slunk cautiously after her.

"Mum, dad! I missed you!" She hugged them each. The boy edged away, but she turned around and took his arm.

"You know Severus Snape," she said. He nodded at Mr and Mrs Evans, Lily's parents – Muggle parents, not that it mattered, he thought to himself.

"Well, goodbye, Sev," she said brightly, "I'll probably see you soon." Lily turned away, but glanced back doubtfully when she glimpsed Severus' face. "Where's your mum, Sev?"

The boy felt a sudden, wrenching pain, but managed to keep his voice casual. Over the years he had developed this mechanism - show no vulnerabilties, know how to act. "Oh, she'll be here soon."

Mrs Evans looked at him gently . "We can take you home, if you wish – Spinner's End, isn't it?"

Snape was unsure; he accepted no favours. But this was different. He allowed himself to be driven home by the Evans'.

Lily was in a good mood today. She had seemed pleasantly surprised when he sat beside her on the Hogwarts Express home, but nevertheless flippantly asked, "Oh? They've let you go, Severus?" - referring to his Slytherin friends. To which he had answered, shrugging impressively, "If they tried to stop me from being with my best friend, I'd hex them." Lily had laughed, "Oh, Sev," while he guiltily wondered what she'd think if she knew he'd done just that, having only had the courage to steal away from the seventh-year Malfoy and his gang with a few well-used Confundus Charms.

On the car ride, he and Lily talked about the school year, the enormous amount of homework Professor Binns had set for them, and even plans for the future. "I think I'd like to be an Auror, or a Healer," Lily enthused. Severus was amazed at the openness with which she spoke to her parents about magic. He noted, however, the look on her face when she realised that her sister was not there.

When they got to the Evans', Lily smilingly ushered him in, patting a seat next to her on the lounge. She opened her trunk and took out a camera. "I didn't know you had one," commented Severus.

"No film at school - kept forgetting to write for some- so I just never used it."

"No film?" He was incredulous. "We could have gone down to Hogsmeade's."

"Oh no, I want to use it as a normal camera – a Muggle camera," she said. Severus raised an eyebrow in question – why would anyone want a still photo when they could have a moving one? As if she had heard his thoughts, she answered: "Well, it won't bug Tuney as much, for one, so she might resist the urge to rip it apart."

It was Severus who suggested that they go to that sunlit river, the one hidden behind a thicket of trees where they had once conversed, sprawled on the grass. He remembered the look he stole from her as she fiddled with the settings. She was beautiful.

Finally she took the camera and held it out at arm's length. "Smile, Sev."

He remembered her arm wrapped around him; recalled the grins now permanently preserved on this piece of paper. He had not even thought to ask for a copy, thinking there would be time, always, for more photos, more memories. How wrong he had been.

But spending even an hour more with Lily Evans was enough to make him happy that day. It was a cushioning comfort that almost blocked out the sound of his parents' raging argument as Severus walked, regretfully, through his own door.

* * *

**Author's note: **Dum de dum - yes, as if you haven't already had enough of Snape's memories... 

I did enjoy writing this part, because the thought that a photograph could be so heartbreaking and nice at the same time for Snape was very appealing. And yes, what else but a photo of himself and Lily could do that? Good guess, I hope it lived up to your expectations. Young Snape is as fun to write as adult Snape - hopefully I have done okay with this aspect of his character.

Although this remains a 'conversation' with Harry, despite tracking back into memory-land I like to think the photograph is a way for some mutual understanding between the two; because as much as I try I can't see them ever being civil enough to get any respect across. That Harry was being thoughtful here is not lost on Snape, but don't expect him to express it ;).

Thanks for all the reviews again: I still stick by the three chapter (two, now!) comment but I'm pleased and flattered that you are enjoying it so much. Hearing that I've written the characters well is the nicest thing, for I'm missing them already. Thank you, all!

p.s. Good point, whitehound; perhaps most recently was at the Shrieking Shack where he was distinctly anxious. I guess Harry's memory is going ;).


	4. One year

Harry was almost amazed at Snape's seeming composure, and quite glad of it too. The portrait was immobile, almost as still as the photograph he clutched, though the dark eyes may have been somewhat brighter than before. Aware that he was intruding on a deeply private moment, Harry began to sidle out of the room.

"Potter!" Snape barked, almost reflexively. Harry looked at him blankly, wishing he'd retreated sooner. He daren't speak to Snape about his mother, but resentfully thought that the man could have been more grateful.

But Snape did not sneer or mutter, even facetiously, about _"fools who wore their hearts on their sleeves…"_ He only asked, softly, "Where did you find this?"

"My Aunt Petunia had it."

"Oh?"

"I don't think she knew," Harry explained.

"Now that much is evident, or I doubt it would be intact."

This reminded Harry so much of the photograph back in Grimmauld Place that before he could stop himself he said, "Yeah, I suppose you won't rip this one."

Snape flushed angrily. "I promise it will not be a _photograph _I will be ripping." Insolent Potter - he never should have shown him that one. Dumbledore had been right; people do strange things in the face of death.

Harry rejoiced that for once it was an empty threat.  
"I'm not sure what you mean, professor," he said innocently. _A bit difficult in your current situation. _

"No, Potter," Snape sneered, eyeing him, "I assure you, no mere frame will protect you from my displeasure, if in future you continue to exercise such impertinence."

Taking pleasure in seeing Harry rattled he went on.

"Have you never heard of -" Snape paused, as if for effect, "- _veneficus sans corpus_?"

_Of course you have not, _thought Snape gleefully as Harry took the minutest step away, _for it does not exist. Bodyless magic_,_ ha!_ he doubled up mentally, though managed to keep a straight face with ease.

"The subtle intricacies of potions were lost on you, so the concept of _veneficus sans corpus _would be alien to your pitiful mind." Snape adopted a demeaning tone, continuing to capitalise on Harry's ignorance. "But I cannot blame you, can I? When you have barely mastered simple non-verbal spells; not given a thought to wandless magic?"

Harry had had enough. "Maybe I haven't, but it wasn't really with my wand that I defeated Riddle."

"What then, Potter? You played him with your amazing wit? Bored the Dark Lord into a stupor then persuaded all the denizens of Hogwarts to trample him? Or, with your astonishing eloquence," he drew it out scathingly, "made such a heart-rending speech that he gave up his wand, _and _gave up the ghost, so to speak?"

At this, Harry began laughing hard. "The last point is more or less right, _sir_, in fact it was, I was told afterwards, a very _touching_ speech, heard by the whole of Hogwarts, and your name came up once or twice-"

"You didn't," Snape interrupted, voice deadly low. "How dare you...fifty points from - " he paused, bemused.

" - Slytherin," Harry finished, wondering how far he dared to go.

Snape quelled any further insolence with a look. _Death has addled me. _He frowned. "How long has it been since I was - ah - unwillingly retired?"

Harry, now calm, replied, "just over a year."

**IiIiIiI**

The problem of a Headmaster's portrait took a while to register in Harry's mind, the process of getting one made took slightly longer. Ron and Hermione had supported him - alright – mostly Hermione – though Ron had said it was perfectly fine as long as he was not expected to meet him.

"Come on Harry - it's all well and good remembering his memory-" Ron still shuddered expressively "- but do you really want to _talk to_ Snape again? He probably thinks you're dead anyway."

Harry shrugged. "It's not that - all the Heads of Hogwarts get portraits, so it wouldn't really be fair if Snape didn't. He did protect the school as much as he could have - "

"And he did, Harry, look after you," finished Hermione.

"Yeah, like Dobby looked after him in second year." They smiled sadly in remembrance of the elf and his well-meaning, disastrous schemes. "Anyway, mate, as long as you take the responsibility and we don't have to wake up the sleeping dragon with you."

To which Harry replied:_ you never know, _it might be amusing if the troublesome trio were the first thing portrait-Snape set his eyes upon._ Can you imagine the look on his face? _

"Yeah, he'd start sobbing again."

"Ron! It's not funny, what happened to Professor Snape was awful." And Hermione's eyes became teary again, thinking of the plight of the once-despised man.

Ron wondered strangely whether she had a plan for a new group with another unfortunate acronym - perhaps the Society for the Sainthood of Severus Snape – SSSS, hmm, how fitting – and felt slightly annoyed that she was romanticising the git (fine, the good-hearted git) now that he was dead. Hermione continued, "The whole thing is incredibly tragic."

"What's tragic is what will happen to us when he finds out that Harry told everything-" Ron began, to which Hermione had retorted: "Come on Ron, don't tell me you'd be afraid of a _portrait. _And can you imagine losing the person you love, all the while feeling guilty about it?"

That did silence Ron for a moment.

**IiIiIiI**

Harry secretly agreed with both of them, though - maybe Snape wouldn't quite forgive Harry for making him into a tragi-romantic hero. Ah well.

Though seriously - if it had not been so long, Harry felt he would not be prepared to have this conversation.

Immediately after the fact, Harry had been too fixed on his own upcoming 'death' to think Snape's revelations over. Even then – he couldn't imagine bringing it up with the ghosts of his mother and the Marauders. Though it was said that Time had mellowed James Potter, Harry felt that sharing what he knew of Snape _- "Always," _the echo forever etched in his mind – would have been decidedly awkward. Then again, perhaps Time had a different type of healing quality where they came from.

Time had ridden Harry of the uncertainties he felt even after knowing of the truth of Snape's loyalties. While he could never imagine Snape as a friend, he now felt he could at least respect Snape's memory. _If only Snape weren't up and running doing his best to spoil it,_ thought Harry dryly.

Snape meanwhile tried to grasp the notion of his being dead for over a year. Yet here he was, part of him at least, acutely conscious that he was supposed to be a vague energy and mere imprint (why did he feel so human?!) while the rest of him had gone to whatever fate awaited. He hoped it would at least be either a restful or interesting one, and a distinct lack of Potter would be nice.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Phew - though it's been a year Snape certainly doesn't get rusty, does he. Hope you enjoyed that - more smirk than serious in this chapter, and more Harry and Snape as requested! Although Ron and Hermione couldn't help but join the fray. In the next and final chapter, the fun continues. 

You really know how to encourage a writer, guys - the piece has gotten steadily longer throughout. Thanks for the reviews and comments, again!

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	5. I regret asking, but

_Snape meanwhile tried to grasp the notion of his being dead for over a year. Yet here he was, part of him at least, acutely conscious that he was supposed to be a vague energy and mere imprint (why did he feel so human?!) while the rest of him had gone to whatever fate awaited. He hoped it would at least be a restful one, and a distinct lack of Potter would be nice. _

_**ooo**_

"Can I ask you a question?" said Harry, interrupting the former Headmaster's imaginings of a Potter-free paradise.

"What?"

"Can I ask you a question – sir?" tried Harry, mistaking Snape's lapse in concentration for a petty concern over what he should be addressed as. _But then, he always misjudged my actions,_ thought Snape. Little wonder they hated each other so much in life.

"First I ask my own, Potter. That snake – Nagini – is she…?"

"Nagini was a horcrux – so yes, it's dead."

Snape nodded slowly. _Horcruxes – _he thought – _I suspected as much._ _I am going to have a word with Dumbledore…but first...  
_

"Did you do it, Potter?" He fervently hoped not.

"No."

"So another performed the deed." A nasty smile began to work its way into Snape's sallow face.

"I didn't say someone killed it, did I?"

"I am assuming, of course, that Nagini was not flattened by the Whomping Willow or accidentally impaled on one of the Dark Lord's fingernails," he said silkily.

"Well, then? Which _infinitely more talented_ student - or professor - avenged me, Potter?" Snape smirked, in the full, satisfying knowledge that he owed nothing more to Harry Potter. He could deal with it if it had been Miss Granger or Mr Weasley - barely, but he could deal with it.

Harry, meanwhile, did not have to think long to remember. The sorting hat bursting into flame, the sword gleaming before slicing into the snake's neck, the relief that the job was almost done - all had been fixed in Harry's mind. He grinned slowly.

"Neville, Neville Longbottom."

_Clearly, I spoke too soon._ Snape groaned softly. _Of all the wizards..._

"Yes - Neville," Harry prodded.

"Longbottom and his friends - at your behest, no doubt - made the final year of my life somewhat more troublesome than it should have been. So forgive me," he sneered, "if I refuse to comment."

Harry shrugged. _Wish he'd refuse to comment on me more often._ "Okay. It was an extremely brave thing, though. He survived, by the way."

"Ah, that is what I have waited a year to hear," Snape said sarcastically, with only a touch of malice. "Well, Potter? Do you wish to tell me any more similarly enthralling news?"

"Ummm - they awarded you the Order of Merlin," Harry casually revealed.

"Wonderful," Snape said, in a stiff manner that suggested that he thought it was a tad late. "I can boast about it to my fellow, _dead_, Headmasters."

Harry laughed. "Actually, you haven't got it made until you're on a Chocolate Frog card, according to Dumbledore. Or," he began in a sly tone, "The Daily Prophet does a front page on you."

"I see - made the final line, did I, Potter? _And the newly identified body of Severus Snape was discovered, bloodless, in the Shrieking Shack. It is rumoured that the ghosts of disgruntled former pupils did the happy deed. THE END."_

"Not quite," said Harry. Moving into the doorway to aim his wand at the bag he left in the hall, he yelled, "_Accio Prophet_!" Snape raised an eyebrow at the dramatic flourish, half-expecting a sherry-drunk Trelawney to come zooming into the room. Instead, a newspaper was summoned into Harry's hand.

"Take a look for yourself," smirked Harry. Snape leaned ever so slightly forwards in his Spinner's End-styled armchair, black eyes suspicious as they looked down at the proffered page.

"SEVERUS SNAPE: The Stalwart Spy And His Secret Sorrows" screamed the headline, above a picture of a wizard who was most definitely _not_ Severus Snape. Perhaps it was the pearly white teeth, or the soft black hair which dramatically swirled around in an unseen wind, or the brooding, heroic pose that gave it away.

"What is _this,_ Potter?" Snape whispered, his hands gripping at the sides of his armchair. Harry marvelled that the stuffing had not come out of it.

"It's your front page. Here, if you don't want to, I'll read it," Harry turned the paper around and began to read aloud. "_Man of the moment Severus Snape, revealed to have played a pivotal role in the defeat of You-Know-Who, harboured heartbreaking secrets that _Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent, _can now exclusively divulge. From the..."_

_"Enough!" _Snape furiously stood up. "Not - a - _word_ more." He almost wrenched the silver-and-green hangings to the floor in his effort to move out of the frame. Snape appeared almost immediately in an empty canvas to Harry's right.

"There's a bookcase behind the hangings if you look carefully enough," Harry volunteered helpfully, but this well-meaning advice was somewhat ruined by Harry's failed attempts not to laugh.

"Alright, I won't read the rest of it," he said, as Snape grudgingly slid back into his own frame, though he left the paper sitting invitingly just in front of the portrait. _I don't imagine he'd like the Quibbler piece much better._

"For your sake you had better not," said Snape, "If your name somehow came up in that _exclusive _piece I would be considerably even - less - amused." Harry thought it was no use trying to tell Snape about the beetle that had attached itself to the top of his shoe on Harry's way to the Pensieve.

"I'll tell Rita Skeeter you didn't like her article, then," said Harry, imagining what the result would be. Possibly a new article entitled: _Snape: Saint - or Scoundrel?_ He sniggered at the thought. Then he remembered.

"Can I ask my question now?"

Snape bared his teeth. "Very well. But the slightest hint of impudence and I will do something we may both regret. What is it, Potter?" He dreaded the inevitable questions about Lily, Dumbledore, or (Merlin forbid!) Severus Snape's _feelings _over the years as he took dangerous spy missions alone, hated and mistrusted by most, reluctantly regarded as a powerful wizard - just short of a Dumbledore or Voldemort - yet arguably more dangerous than both. He prepared for himself a stinging reply, a cold none-of-your-business glare. "Spit it out."

But Harry, who had been struck with a strange, boyish curiosity, had nothing like that in mind.

"Can you tell me how you - flew? Out of the window at Hogwarts?"

"No," Snape said smoothly, "I believe superior mortals like yourself have devices called _brooms_ for such frivolities. Dear me, I'm amazed you remained on the Quidditch team without such knowledge."

_He hasn't changed much, really. Too much to ask for, to have Snape let death get in the way of his personality._

Harry thought he might persist, however, just this once. "Riddle could fly too - did he teach you that, or did you-"

"Really, use whatever sense remains in that overblown head of yours," Snape cut him off, sidestepping the question. "Can you imagine what the Dark Lord would look like astride a broom? What - striking fear into wizards' hearts by cackling atop a stick like a Muggle's _witch_ in front of the full moon?"

The two avoided each other's eyes for a moment, both savouring the guilty pleasure of picturing the ridiculous image. This time, it was Harry who broke the silence.

"You're being taken to Hogwarts tomorrow," he said, by way of finishing.

Harry decided against telling him any more on the war's aftermath. Snape would find those things out soon enough, from people more – preferable - for learning these things from than Harry Potter. The news could wait. Harry shook his head, ignoring Snape's _"Then what are you still doing here, Potter?" _as he recalled the familiar, warm feeling of the doe patronus and the almost-companionable tutelage of the Half-Blood Prince. He struggled to reconcile them with the derisive Snape. No, even in light of what he knew, it was difficult. Maybe in time he would. Just maybe.

Then, all that was left was the only thing Harry had really planned to say today but was never quite sure how: a small, soft-murmured, "Thank you."

Though it was barely two words, they both knew that it meant more.

_Thank you for protecting me even though you could barely stand the sight of me, for being Dumbledore's man all along, for enduring your trials and teaching me even when I didn't wish to learn. Thank you for being loyal to your heart, and giving your life without the assurance that your soul would ever be remembered._

_And, I guess, thanks for refraining from killing me, despite the thought crossing your mind a million times._

He stood for a moment, and when it became clear that the portrait had no more words for him, made to leave.

"Wait." Harry and Snape shared another look.

Then Snape dismissed him like the teacher always had in life: after an Occlumency lesson, after a detention.

At first Harry thought he had heard wrong, but though it was curt and short it was unmistakable.

Inside, Snape cursed himself for that uncharacteristic blunder. _Here we go; now the boy will suffer from the misapprehension that it was an olive branch. _He barely resisted the urge to call Potter back and rain more insults upon his head for good measure, deciding grudgingly to let it slide and instead blame his condition (is that what one called being dead for a year?) for the otherwise inexcusable slip. He looked down at the photograph once again. _Oh, if it were not for you..._

Hurrying out of the gallery corridor, Harry could not help but grin as he recalled Snape's final words.

"You have still not mastered Occlumency, I see. Do not - even - _think _of naming a future child after me."

In Snape's mind, the idea of someone gurgling, _"coochie coo, Severus!" _was downright sickening. That was the first part of the dismissal, Snape's cold eyes glittering, deadly serious, as the boy entertained those exact (_and very deliberate_, snorted Harry,) thoughts.

It was what came after that had the boy wondering whether he dared go against the man's wishes anyway. Even though, Harry conceded, the look on his face immediately afterwards was akin to a Hippogriff who had swallowed far too many ferrets at the same time.

"Very well - that is all, _Harry." _

From anyone else it would have meant nothing, but it was a rarer thing than a Fawkes' feather wand coming from Severus Snape.

THE END

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, I'm not sure what to say. Hope you liked reading my story, thank you so much for the reviews! I'm glad it's been able to alleviate the feelings of those who, like me, have been saddened by Snape's death - the man is still alive and kicking out there, guys! Not in the most literal sense in any way, but like JK has said he's a gift of a character who just transcends fictional/deathly boundaries. I imagine that even at this moment Harry is planning his second visit, the first having gone so well ; ). With any luck that final line was not too out of character for Snape - it was a slip, of course, nothing more. Harry will take all he can get ; ). 

Well, that's all from me. Greatest of thanks to all you readers again - reading the reviews were an absolute joy, and if I can I'll try and reply personally to some of those comments or questions - as I return JKR's characters back to her possession. As Harry said, thank you and goodbye (for now)!


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